Page 77 of The Mask Falling

Mylène scuffed her buckled shoe along the floor. “Maman says.” There was dust all over her red frock. “I like your hair,” she ventured. “It’s not like monster hair.”

“How do you know about monsters?” I asked her. My grandfather had thrilled me with tales of headless riders and children transformed into swans when I was little, but they told far duller stories here.

“It’s a secret,” Mylène informed me.

“I should think so.” I sat back. “Go on, then. What kind of hair do monsters have?”

“Green?”

In spite of myself, I smiled again, and Mylène smiled back. Against the odds, an amaurotic child had found a way to dream of green-haired monsters in Scion. There was some hope in that.

To my dismay, little Jean-Michel appeared behind her. He held a fleecy blanket that looked as if it had been gnawed at every corner.

“I’m Jean-Michel,” he whispered. “Excuse me, but who are you?”

“Jean-Mi,” Mylène hissed, “we’re not supposed to tell strangers our names.”

Jean-Michel just chewed his blanket and gazed at me with huge calf eyes. I got off the daybed and crouched in front of them.

“Hello, Jean-Michel,” I said. “I’m Paige. It’s very nice of you to let me stay in your house.”

“Your voice is funny,” Jean-Michel said.

“Well, my accent is different from yours. I come from a country called Ireland.”

His eyes somehow grew even larger. “Isn’t that a bad place?”

“Maman says it’s bad,” Mylène said, before I could get a word in. “I don’t think we’re supposed to talk to you. I just wanted to see what an abomination was. Onésime says we should always do exactly what Maman tells us.”

“Is Onésime your big brother?” I asked.

“Yes. He went back to school today. He’s ten this year. I’m Mylène Édith,” she said. “I’m seven and a half. And Jean-Mi is four. Look, he has all his baby teeth.”

Jean-Michel proved it with a big smile. Suddenly, painfully, I remembered that my grandmother would leave a silver coin under my pillow whenever I lost a tooth.

Scion had conscripted my father when I was only a little older than Mylène. He had uprooted me from Ireland, but I had clung to the memory of it. It had kept me sane, reminding me each day that there were other ways to live, a world beyond Scion. Mylène and Jean-Michel had known nothing else.

“Will you play with us?” Jean-Michel asked shyly. “We like to play hide-and-seek up here.”

“Do you, now?”

He nodded. “When Maman and Papa are busy.”

“This used to be where Mamie Caroline lived,” Mylène said. I knew from my research that Luce had brought her late mother here to nurse her during her final illness. “Maman stopped us coming here after she died, but I found a secret way in, and Jean-Mi followed me one day. The Vigiles aren’t supposed to go out all at once, but they sometimes do, so we play here until they come back.”

This could be useful.

“That sounds like fun.” I smiled. “You must do a lot of exploring. Can you show me the secret way?”

Mylène eyed me. “But then you could escape. And you’re a monster.”

“Hey, I thought we agreed I’mnota monster?” I crossed my eyes, and they both laughed. “It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me, though. I know it’s your secret. I have secrets, too.”

“You do?”

“Lots.” When I sat down on the floor, they copied me. “You said you come here when your parents are busy. Are they busy now?”

“Yes, with the war.” Mylène looked resigned. “It’s so boring. And Papa is always too cross and tired to play with us.”

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